


Price of War

by Merkwerkee



Series: Being Bruno Hamilton [27]
Category: Masters of the Metaverse
Genre: Amputation, Gore, Whumptober 2019, during his time in the Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:15:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22856107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merkwerkee/pseuds/Merkwerkee
Summary: Bruno and Weber find Tunstall and Graves, but what did they really gain in the end?
Series: Being Bruno Hamilton [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643020





	Price of War

“Nade!”

Bruno pulled back behind the corner he’d been shooting from at Weber’s shout, closing his eyes for a brief moment as the thrown explosive detonated with a bang and a shower of plaster dust. Leaning back around the corner for a quick look was enough to confirm that all the hostiles who’d been keeping them pinned were either completely down or disoriented enough to be out of the fight and a few quick rounds from Weber’s pistol was enough to put them down as well.

Bruno spared a quick glance for the other man; Weber had been uncharacteristically taciturn since they’d lost track of Tunstall and Graves nearly a month ago; their (hopefully) temporary replacements - one Cpl Sean “Shingle” McKinnon and one PFC John “Shade” Holland - were new to the unit and somewhat wrong-footed by Weber’s surly attitude. Bruno had made the effort to at least be civil to them, something Weber couldn’t seem to manage for all it wasn’t their fault that Tunstall and Graves weren’t there.

Still, whatever his personal feelings, Weber hadn’t let it affect his performance - which was more than Bruno could say for for some of the other men he’d seen similar shit happen to over the years. Gesturing for them to follow, Weber pushed down the hallway towards the next intersection which their intelligence suggested would take them directly to the stairs down into the lower levels.

Their objective in this particular facility was to retrieve a VIP, one Walter Roman - a civilian contractor - whose convoy had been ambushed a week earlier, suffering casualties in excess of 2/3rds of its complement and the man himself captured and brought - in a somewhat roundabout fashion - to the cells of the building they were in. An emphasis had been placed on speed over stealth, and without Tunstall’s tactical expertise and minute attention to detail, they’d gone in with a much rougher plan than usual.

Which in turn meant they went from covert to overt within five minutes of entering the building; if they hadn’t gotten a second team - under Sergeant Matthew “Apple” Tryon - to supplement Hurley’s team they likely would’ve been overrun by now. As it stood, Bruno was having doubts whether or not they’d find anyone left alive when they finally did reach the cellblock marked as the most probable location for Roman.

Still, they had to try and the stairwell was, by some miracle, clear of enemies when they finally reached it. They proceeded by fire and movement, Weber and McKinnon going first with Hollandand Bruno leapfrogging them down the three flights it took to reach bottom. On a count of three Weber breached the door and lead them into a long, featureless corridor whose off-white walls were only relieved by the iron doors inset into them at depressingly regular intervals. Fortunately the doors themselves each had view slots in them, so they didn’t have to open each one along the way.

In point of fact the first three proved empty, Weber checking them with a ruthless efficiency that was unleavened by his usual stream of complaints and lowbrow jokes. It worried Bruno in a way he couldn’t fully articulate, but he kept pace with his squadmate and the other two followed their lead in silence. Holland seemed untroubled, but McKinnon glanced back and forth between the two of them with a glint in his eyes that Bruno didn’t want to think about, and made comments at several points that fell into the heavy silence like deflated balloons, and by the second room had petered out completely.

The fourth room they hit paydirt.

Weber slammed the sliding port on the door open, peered into the room beyond…..and froze. For a long ten seconds he stared into the dimness beyond before scrambling at one of the many pouches attached to his belt. Bruno would have liked audible confirmation that they’d found the target, but let it go figuring that Weber wouldn’t breach a room without cause. Instead he turned toward the further end of the corridor while signalling McKinnon to cover the nearer in case the noise of the breaching explosive attracted unwanted attention.

The crack of the explosive blowing the lock echoed up and down the hallway, but nothing stirred at either end immediately. Bruno kept a wary eye out, though, until Holland’s voice echoed almost as loudly as the shot had.

“Holy shit.”

Bruno turned, frowning; Roman shouldn’t be in that bad a shape after only a week unless his captors had been stupid and bent more on doing damage than what ransom they could get for him. Holland was as pale as a sheet and Weber was nowhere to be seen. McKinnon was keeping his attention down his side of the hall in an admirable show of self-restraint; it took Bruno two tries to get Holland to switch places with Bruno himself so Bruno could see what all the noise was about. It sounded like someone in the cell was weeping?

He walked to the entrance and blinked his eyes to make them adjust to the dimmer light faster. It only took a few seconds for two gaunt and yet very familiar forms to become visible.

 _“Jesus H. Christ,”_ he said on reflex.

“Good to see you too, Hammer,” said a badly injured and yet somehow, miraculously, still alive, Tunstall.

——————————————————————————————————-

Bruno stopped just outside the closed door, heedless of the medical personnel moving up and down the corridor, and ran his fingers through his hair. This would be the first time he’d seen Tunstall or Graves since they got back to base, and Tunstall had specifically requested his presence. Straightening, he knocked once on the door.

“Come in.” The voice was a little hoarse but the words themselves were clear enough and Bruno pushed the door open. The sight that greeted him was much, much better than the last time he’d gone through a door to find Tunstall. The man was propped up in bed, the blinds on the window open to let in the early afternoon sun, and in that clean light the bandages wrapped around the stump of his right arm shone a bright white. More bandages peeked through the collar of his shirt, and a few stray butterfly bandages were scattered across his face.

Tunstall waited patiently while Bruno looked him over, a sort of determinedly relaxed look on his face, only smiling crookedly at Bruno when the younger man looked him in the eye again. “I know, not winning any beauty pageants, but at least I’m alive for it.” There was a gallows edge to the lightness in his tone that hinted at deeper waters underneath the veneer, but Bruno wasn’t about to go stirring up anything he didn’t have to, not after his failure of a heart to heart with Weber - was it only a few weeks ago? It seemed like far longer.

“Glad to see _you’re_ awake,” Bruno ventured, matching Tunstall in tone. Tunstall had fallen unconscious on their exfiltration from the prison facility and had only woken a few times on their way back to base. The fact that he was now awake and mostly upright seemed a long way to have come in the few short days since their arrival.

Tunstall dipped his head, a shadow falling over his face. “Graves still hasn’t woken up then,” he said quietly, and Bruno could only shake his head mutely. Graves had been unconscious when they’d gotten into the cell and hadn’t woken up once along the trip back; they’d forced what food and water they could down his throat and had hoped for the best. When they’d arrived back the medicos had rushed him to the hospital immediately, and after almost thirty hours of surgery had put him in a room with machines that beeped every hour of the day and night.

Bruno knew because he’d contrived to stay in that room for almost twenty four hours straight before a corpsman had realized that he hadn’t actually left overnight and had kicked him out. He’d made daily trips back since then, fitting it around his regular duties as best he could. Jaxun had been extremely lenient on the matter, but Bruno didn’t like to take advantage. Graves wasn’t likely to wake up soon; Bruno’s presence or absence was probably irrelevant.

But that didn’t stop him from going.

Tunstall must’ve read something of that on Bruno’s face because he shook his head with real regret. “I thought as much. It explains these, certainly.” He reached awkwardly across himself as he spoke, going for a sheaf of papers sitting on the table by the right side of the bed and shuffling them as best he could one-handed before holding them out to Bruno. Bruno took them, and began glancing through them, his blood getting cooler with each page he read.

The topmost sheet was an honorable medical discharge for one Captain Jack Tunstall, injured in the line of duty. It only made sense - Tunstall was right-handed, after all, or had been - but it still hit like a gut punch. The next several sheets were legalese about that and all the missions he’d gone on for Jaxun’s Alpha Team, but it was the fourth one that really made Bruno’s heart stutter. It was travel orders for sending Jack Tunstall and Amos Graves back to the States on the convoy heading to the international airport in four days.

Bruno looked up and held up the page and P Tunstall ick made a helpless gesture with his one remaining hand. “We’re both going to need a hell of a lot of care, Hamilton. The kind of long-term stuff that just can’t be provided by a front-line hospital. They need these beds for men who have a decent shot at getting up and heading back out to rejoin the fight,” his voice was unbearably gentle and Bruno exhaled sharply through his nose.

“I know,” he said quietly. And he truly had known that neither man was ever likely to be fit for duty again. Graves wasn’t obviously missing any limbs, but there’d been injuries on his front and back that had been sewn up with surgical stitching even before they’d got there. What had actually been done to him Bruno didn’t know, and being left guessing was almost worse than knowing.

Still, he’d held on to one tiny, stupid shred of hope.

“It’s why I asked you to come,” said Tunstall quietly, interrupting Bruno’s thoughts, and Bruno raised an eyebrow at him. Tunstall sighed. “It’s Chisel - Fred.” He paused for a moment as if to collect his thoughts. “We actually came from the same unit, years ago, and were among the first Jaxun handpicked when he was forming Alpha Squad. We’ve been on the same team ever since.” His brow wrinkled. “I _know_ him. When he found the orders…he didn’t react well.” Bruno’s eyebrows came together with an almost audible click and Tunstall shook his head. “Not like that. He doesn’t hold a grudge, but I know him. Doing something stupid to get sent home is right in his wheelhouse, but it’s a damned fine line between injured and dead.”

He looked Bruno square in the eye. “So I’m asking you to keep an eye on him. He knows how to do his damn job, but….he may not have his own best interests in mind. See what I’m saying?” Tunstall made a vague gesture that seemed designed to encompass the whole of Frederic “Chisel” Weber and Bruno nodded.

“Yeah. I see what you’re saying.” He’d seen it in the weeks before Tunstall and Graves had been recovered. That deadly, taciturn seriousness that was at once eminently practical and utterly reckless, the kind of actions that sacrificed personal safety for efficiency; he’d seen it in spades.

Tunstall nodded in his own turn and held out his hand. Bruno hesitated for a moment before reaching out and taking it for a firm shake. His only warning was a gleam of mischief in Tunstall’s eyes before the other man pulled him close and put what was left of his right arm around Bruno. The hug was as brief as it was unexpected, Tunstall releasing him as suddenly as he’d hugged him. He brought his left arm up in an awkward salute, and held Bruno’s gaze until Bruno returned it.

“Sergeant Hamilton, it’s been an honor.”


End file.
